by Karen Miller
“He does care!” Anakin said angrily. “Would he be killing himself in your sick house, trying to heal the wounded and ill, if he didn’t? We both care, Jaklin. But giving up when we’re so close to winning? That’s crazy. That’s your fear talking, Teeba. You need to shut it up before it gets everyone killed.”
Obi-Wan heard more furious muttering from the crowd of villagers, felt a sharper edge of danger in the air. He touched Anakin’s arm, drawing him aside. “Don’t,” he said softly. “The ice is very thin. We tread lightly or we fall.”
Frustrated, Anakin nodded. “Fine. But if you’re going to negotiate us out of this, you’d better do it fast. I need to get back to the shield generators.”
The shield generators… the power plant… the ailing villagers in the sick house… no matter where they turned there was a crisis demanding their attention.
Obi-Wan looked again at Jaklin. Hear me. Please, you have to hear me. “Teeba, I can’t tell you precisely what’s happening above Lanteeb right now. The Force hasn’t shown me. But I can tell you what I feel—what I know—to be true. There are Jedi trying to help us, but the Separatists are blocking them. That’s why they’re not here yet.”
“Then what good are they?” cried Jaklin, rousing her fellow villagers to loud agreement. “They might as well have stayed at home!”
“Jaklin—” Gently, he took her by the shoulders. “I have been fighting this war since before it officially began. In these past months I have watched more friends die than I thought was possible and I have seen atrocities you can’t even imagine. For every life I’ve saved, I’ve failed to save another. We’re trapped in a nightmare and there are days, so many days, when I think I’ll never wake. But—”
She shook free of him, trembling. “Torbel’s nightmare is of your making, Jedi. You came here. You brought this terror to us. And now—”
“And now Anakin and I are doing our best to save you from it,” he said. “But we can’t do it alone. Jaklin, I’m not lying.” Looking at the close-pressed circle of frightened villagers surrounding them, he raised his voice. “I swear to you, on my life: I am not lying. Help has come to Lanteeb and it will come to Torbel just as soon as it can.”
“And if it’s not soon enough?” said Jaklin, lifting her own voice above the murmurs and soft sobs in the crowd. Despair was a muffling shroud, threatening to smother them all. Her finger jabbed upward again. “Any moment, Jedi, any moment, that shield could fail.”
“No, it won’t,” said Anakin. “I’m not going to let it. The shield will hold, Jaklin, and so will the power plant. If I have to pour blood into them, they will hold.”
And still she didn’t want to believe them. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. “Or we could end this siege here and now. We could give you to the droids so they’ll leave, and leave Torbel alone.”
“No!” cried a child’s voice. “No, we can’t do that!” It was Greti. Pushing her way through the crowd, she halted before Jaklin and glared up at her. “Teeba, it’s not right to—”
“Hold your tongue, Greti,” said Jaklin, impatient. “This business is for the adults to meet on and decide. You should go sit with your mam.”
“Bohle’s good without me, she is,” Greti retorted. “Thanks to Teeb Kenobi. She’d be planted if he’d not saved her. So would Arrad. So would lots of us. He’s helped Rikkard and poor Brandeh’s daughter Moyjn and—and—oh, everyone! I know, I’ve been helping him. He hardly sleeps or eats, Teeba Jaklin. He’s so tired he cries but he doesn’t stop.”
Obi-Wan swallowed a curse. One moment of weakness. One moment where he let the enormity of the task overwhelm him. He’d thought the child was asleep. Feeling Anakin’s accusing stare, he shook his head in warning. Not now.
Small fists on her skinny hips, an echo of Sufi, Greti trembled with anger. “How can you talk of throwing him to the droids, Teeba? That’s bad, that is. That’s a shameful thing.”
“I agree,” said another voice, soft with its own weariness. A familiar broken, grinding sound, and then the crowd was parting to let Devi through in her rickety antigrav harness. Every awkward step clearly pained her, but she gritted her teeth and kept coming.
“Devi—” said Anakin, startled. “What are you—”
“Don’t fret,” she said, finding a shaky smile for him. “Poolin’s watching the monitors. She knows to comm me if she sees a red needle. It’s the red needle here I want to fix.” Like Greti, she turned and glared at Jaklin. “A short memory you’ve got, Teeba. Anakin nearly killed himself saving us from the theta storm.”
“And you think we should repay that debt by laying down our lives?” Jaklin shook her head. “If you’re greensick for the young one, Devi, that problem’s yours. Don’t go making it ours.”
Devi’s cheeks flushed. “I’m greensick for no one. Jaklin, the Jedi didn’t steal Lanteeb. The Seps did that. The Seps plan on using our damotite to murder innocents. Anakin and Obi-Wan are just trying to stop them. You saw that before. You can’t not see it now.” Turning, she stared at her gathered friends and neighbors. “It’s easy to stand for what’s right when there’s no cost but hot air and brave words. So is that the kind of people we are? People who’ll let wrong be done to save ourselves a little pain?” She turned back to Jaklin, then spat in the dirt. “And you call yourself a teacher.”
It was Jaklin’s turn to flush. “Devi—”
Obi-Wan held his breath, feeling Anakin tense beside him. At a touch on his hand he looked down to see Greti, who would have made such a magnificent Jedi. Solemnly she curled her fingers around his, her too-old eyes bright.
If I’m wrong, she’ll die. If I’m wrong, they’ll all die. I can’t bear it.
“Hey,” said Anakin under his breath. “Don’t give up now.”
“I say we stand firm,” said Devi, when Jaklin didn’t speak again. “I say we hold on.”
“For how long?” said Jaklin… but the fight had gone out of her. Now she looked old and tired and sad.
“Until help gets here,” said Devi. “And it will get here. I can’t prove it but I believe it. I believe them.”
Jaklin stared at her, saying nothing. And then she walked away. Uncertain, the crowd of villagers watched her retreat, babbling in consternation and confusion.
But Devi wasn’t giving up, or walking away. “Listen to me, everyone!” she shouted. “We’ve come too far to turn back. Yes, we’re on our knees, but we’re not beaten yet. Not unless we surrender. And then we’ll have beaten ourselves.”
Silence. Then someone in the crowd called out: “You promise this is nearly over, Jedi? You promise we won’t have sheltered you for nothing?”
Feeling the sea change in the villagers’ volatile emotions, Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “You have our promise that we’ll defend you to the death. And yes, this is nearly over.”
Another groundswell of muttered comments—and then, to his surprise, the people of Torbel began drifting away from the square, heading back to their homes and their children to wait out the siege.
Anakin smiled. “And the Negotiator strikes again.”
He breathed hard for a moment. “No. We owe our reprieve to Greti and Devi.”
“Well, yeah,” said Anakin. “Them, too. Devi—” She slapped Anakin’s chest, her face crumpled into a pretend-scowl. “You can thank me by taking another look at Bay Six’s main feed line. Whatever you did to it last night, it’s not holding.”
Anakin’s amusement vanished. “All right. Just—give me a minute, would you?”
“One,” Devi said, then jerked her thumb toward the street. “I’ll meet you at my groundcar.”
As she headed for her vehicle, each step a challenge, Obi-Wan looked down at Greti. “Time for you to go home and get some sleep. Your mam will be wondering where you are.”
“Bohle knows where I am, Teeb,” said Greti, shrugging. “She knows I can help you in the sick house. Wants me to, she does.”
Oh, but she was a glorious soul. Her strength had
saved him, and so many others. He did not want to leave her behind when they left. If they left.
“You’ve helped me enough for now. Greti, you must rest. How will I manage if you make yourself sick?”
Her urchin face dimpled. “You won’t.”
“No. I won’t. So off you go.” He brushed his fingers over her dirty, ragged hair. “And thank you, Greti.”
The child retreated, unwilling but obedient, leaving him and Anakin alone on the village square. In silence they looked at each other.
“Stang,” Anakin said at last. “That was close.” Obi-Wan nodded. “Very.”
Nearly fourteen hours had passed since they first felt the stirring in the Force that heralded the arrival of more Jedi. Fourteen hours of nursing sick people and balky shield generators and the power plant in its slow, inevitable decline. Fourteen hours that had culminated in this desperate confrontation with Torbel’s villagers.
“I’ve tried to see what’s happening out there,” said Anakin. “But I can’t. I can’t even be certain who’s come. I think it’s Ahsoka but—” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m too tired to be sure. I never knew I could feel this tired.”
Neither did I, before Zigoola. “Don’t worry. They will get to us soon.”
“Do you really believe that?” said Anakin. His expression was bleak.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I have to.”
Anakin looked up, as though he could see through the storm shield, through the hovering cloud of mosquito droids, through the layers of Lanteeb’s atmosphere and out into the cold dark void of space.
“I think it’s Grievous,” he said, his voice low and full of hate. “I think he’s the one standing between our people and this planet.”
“Even if you’re right, Anakin, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Whoever it is, our people will prevail. They haven’t come all this way to be beaten on Lanteeb’s doorstep.”
Anakin glanced at him. “Can you tell who’s here?”
“For certain?” He shook his head. “No. But I want to say Mace Windu.”
“Master Windu and Ahsoka? Now there’s an interesting team. If it is them, Grievous had better start running. He—”
Out in the street, Devi sounded her groundcar’s horn.
Anakin waved at her. “Sorry, I’d better go. And once I’m done at the plant I need to take another look at that hinky generator from last night. Obi-Wan…”
“If you tell me I look terrible and need to sleep, I shall smack you,” he said, very mildly. “I’m no better or worse off than anyone else here.”
“Obi-Wan—”
“Anakin, are you really going to make me say it?”
Frustrated, Anakin shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ll say it for you. You’ll do what you must.”
“Yes, I will,” he said, still mild. How could he scold, when Anakin’s fear for him was as loud as a shout? “And so will you.” He clasped Anakin’s shoulder, briefly. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to go through this with anyone but you.”
For once, Anakin had no witty retort. “Likewise,” he said at last. “And if I need help checking the other generators?”
“You know where I’ll be.”
Obi-Wan watched him lope across the square and climb into the groundcar beside Devi. As they drove toward the power plant the mosquito droids hovering overhead buzzed into life and opened fire again. A breath later, the mass of battle droids followed suit. He looked up.
Stang. Mace, if that is you out there, hurry. Torbel can’t hold on much longer.
DESPITE ANAKIN’S PERSISTENT NAGGING, Obi-Wan had not intended to sleep, not with nineteen villagers still in need of constant care—but his brutally weary body overruled him. He woke on the floor nearly two hours later to find Greti crouched beside one of her stuporous playmates, sponging the sweat of greensickness from the little girl’s skin. Hearing him stir, she looked up.
“Oh—did I cozzle you?” she said, anxious. “I never meant to.”
Obi-Wan sat up, his spine cracking. “It’s all right.” For a moment he was puzzled, and then he realized what was wrong. “When did the bombardment stop?”
“Half an hour ago, about.” Greti grinned. “Good, isn’t it?”
He looked around the hushed room. “It certainly is. Where’s Teeba Sufi?”
“Gone next door to put her head down, she has,” Greti said, dropping the sponge cloth into her bowl of water. “It’s just us.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be just us. Greti—” He had to smother a yawn. “I told you to go home.”
“I know what you told me, Teeb. And I did go home. But I couldn’t settle, so I came back.”
Exasperated, he shook his head at her. She’s as stubborn as Anakin ever was. “You’ll have your mam so cross with me.”
“Bohle understands.” Gently, Greti covered her sick playmate with a blanket. “You do, too, Teeb.”
Yes. He did. The urge to heal was blinding within her. “How are our other patients faring?”
With a shrug, Greti carried her bowl of mucky water to the sink. “No one’s died, not even Ryfus. That’s good.”
Ryfus had been shot to pieces by a mosquito droid. He might not be dead yet, but he would be soon if he didn’t get to a medcenter. “Yes. That is good. Greti, when was the last time you swallowed your dose of greensick medicine?”
She busied herself rinsing the sponge cloth.
“Greti.” Swallowing a pained grunt, Obi-Wan clambered to his feet. “I won’t have you here if you don’t take your dose.”
“It’s horrible,” she muttered, as he took the bottle and cup from the cupboard and poured her some. The bottle was perilously close to empty. “You don’t take it.”
He held out the cup. “I can manage without it. You can’t. Drink.”
She drank Sufi’s bitter medicine, glowering, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Good girl.”
But instead of smiling at his praise, like she usually did, Greti stared out of the small window above the sink. With the bombardment ceased, no bright flashes lighting the night sky, her young, thin face was almost lost in shadows.
“Did you mean what you said, Obi-Wan? About help coming soon?”
“Of course I meant it. I’d never lie about something like that.”
She glanced at him. “Then why are you still scared?”
Still scared? And here I thought I was doing such a fine job of hiding from her. “I’m tired, Greti. It’s easy to get discouraged when you’re tired. But you mustn’t think it means I’ve lost faith in my friends. I haven’t.”
Lips pursed, she rinsed the medicine cup and set it to drain. Then she flicked him a glance. “Have I really been a help to you, Teeb?”
“Yes. An enormous help.”
“Is that because—” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Obi-Wan, I’m different, aren’t I?”
The Force give me strength. “We’re all different, Greti.” And that made her scowl. “You know what I mean.” If only he didn’t. “Greti…”
“Bohle tells me all the time I shouldn’t feel things so hard,” she said, drying her hands on the front of her grubby tunic. “But I can’t help it. Born this way, I was.”
Obi-Wan swallowed. “I know.”
She looked at him, so hopeful. “Teeb—when you go, can you take me with you? Somewhere I can learn about being different?”
He should have seen this coming. He should have prepared himself for it. “Greti, I can’t,” he said, his throat painfully tight. “There are—ways of doing things, where I come from. Rules.”
“Oh.” She jerked her chin up. “I’m not good enough?”
He made himself meet her glittering, wide-eyed stare. “It’s too late.”
“Oh.” Her lips trembled. “But—I’m good enough.”
Waifs and strays. Qui-Gon. “Greti, you’re better than good enough. It’s been an honor, teaching you what little I know.”
“Then why can’t you—” The child bit her lip. “Rules.”
Aching, he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
In the lamplit gloom behind him, a woman shifted on her cot and moaned. Greti’s stare shifted. “That’s Teeba Yancy, that is,” she said. “I didn’t think she felt right, before.”
Obi-Wan turned. It might not be admirable, but the distraction was a relief. “Then we’d best get her right, hadn’t we?”
Together, using the Force, they brought down the woman’s spiking fever. Then they checked each patient, cot by cot easing discomfort, changing bandages, and applying Sufi’s dwindling ointments and salves. Obi-Wan spent the longest time with Rikkard, struggling to ease the man free of his damotite poisoning. With Jaklin refusing to leave her cottage, Torbel desperately needed its other leader.
But the toxic smoke had soaked deep into Rikkard’s flesh and bones. Wanting to spare Greti, Obi-Wan pushed himself so hard he came close to collapse, but he couldn’t break the damotite’s vicious hold.
Greti patted his arm. “Teeb, Teeb, it’s hurting yourself, you are. Don’t. We need you.”
Biting back a groan, he pulled himself free of Rikkard’s suffering. And then, breathing hard, he saw that Arrad was awake and watching him from the next cot.
“It’s all right, Arrad,” he croaked. “Your father will be fine.”
Arrad’s sunken eyes closed, hiding his fear and doubt.
“Obi-Wan,” said Greti, tugging his sleeve. “Come and sit.”
Too tired to argue, feeling ill and shivery, he let the child chivvy him back to his empty spot on the floor and settle him there with his shoulders pressed to the wall. Then she fetched him half a cup of water and stood over him until he drank it.
He handed the empty cup back to her. “You’re very bossy.”
“That’s because you won’t listen.”
“Said the girl who fights tooth and nail against taking her medicine!”
With a swift, sly grin Greti dropped to the floor beside him and slid her arm through his. Letting her head fall against his shoulder, she sighed.
“It tastes bad.”
“True. But that’s no excuse.” Greti giggled. “Now who’s bossy?”